Trout guide Evan Phillippe and I recently hit the lower Bitterroot for an afternoon of hunting slough pike and searching for a March Brown hatch. We caught zero pike and experienced a couple hours of nice dry fly fishing. At the end of the day, we rigged up some hopper/ droppers for the row home. That's when I hooked this old dude. He taped at 28" and ate a fly. Phillippe showed what makes him a pro in a nerve-racking mid-river landing job. That's all I can remember...
Gear: Head
For the "rad montana skis."
In an effort to stay in the sunshine, leaving our beloved Montana for Central Idaho was the weather forecasted direction we headed.
Our first stop: the hot springs of Stanley Idaho. With many to choose, we camped at the Salmon River Campground about three miles north of town and soaked in the tub springs by the side of the road. It was perfect temps, no one there, and a half mile from camp.

Day hike up the Kootenai Creek drainage on 04/22.
Montana’s rivers are filled with folks in hip waders and fishing vests, casting fly rods with skill and grace. But none are quite like the fisherman-slash-YouTube-sensation who recently kicked off the first-ever Down the Hatch Fly Fishing Film Festival in Missoula. Who knew fly fishing could be so funny?
After receiving another round of deep powder, Camas Peak seemed like an ideal place for a mid spring powder tour.
In keeping with the idea of a highlights season, touring to Sugarloaf Peak made the cut. An excellent approach, very aesthetic line, and a lovely canyon with great views to the south of Trapper Peak and Boulder and Mount Jerusalem distinguish and characterize the Sugarloaf Peak tour.

With a whole day ahead of us and nowhere to be (the bowl is closed now, after all), my S.O. and I decided to take an impromptu trip to Weir Creek Hot Springs. We shoved towels and beers and Nalgenes into the backpack, loaded up the dog, picked up some sandwiches, and headed down US 12. The whole drive took place in snow. Sometimes blue sky poked through the snowstorm, with sun hitting my arms, but snow piling on my windshield.
We took this as a good sign.
We sped past an almost empty Jerry Johnson parking lot, a rare sight, and:
Another good sign.
But then, coming around that last bend, we found the small Weir parking lot crammed with at least ten cars, including an RV. !@#$.